Louis' phone rang perpetually for several seconds, nearly thirty he assumed, without any indication of ceasing. He thought, at first, it was one of the boys attempting to bring something to his attention. He supposed that, by chance, another rumor had surfaced. Rumors in months prior had contained debatable issues concerning his sexuality, drinking habits, and whereabouts. Press stories weren't something that often irked him or upset him. His motto was simple: It is what it is. The saying, first said by Harry, meant enough to him that he had it forever engraved on his chest, near where his collarbones showed the prominence they bestowed upon his body.
But when his phone rang again, he realized that there must have been some sort of urgency behind the phone calls, usually the boys left a missed call with a savage voicemail or a short, angry text.
He stepped out of the shower, shampoo still in his mousy hair, threatening to leak out and cascade down his sharp facial features. He yanked his towel off of its designated place on the rack and quickly tied it around his tiny waist. He would have to finish his musical number after he returned into the warm array of steam that was his shower.
Of course, the phone call had to happen right then and there. It flustered him a bit; he never received phone calls when he was doing nothing, otherwise attempting to entertain himself, but when he was trying to accomplish something it seemed as though fifteen other things needed to be tended to right that second as well.
Thick fog filled the vicinity of the bathroom, covering mirrors and making everything blurry. As soon as he unlocked the bathroom door and opened it, the clogged air sauntered its way out into the master bedroom, the bedroom in which he and Harry shared since they bought the house together. It was a major upgrade from the flat they owned in North London. This house was roomier and it didn't feel as though it were a temporary place to stay.
As soon as he stepped out of the bathroom, Bruce yelped and howled at him, almost in fright, Louis leaned down to pet his ears, but Bruce jolted back. He figured that Bruce was afraid of his ringtone, as it was deafening and high-pitched. Letting out a sigh, he stepped around Bruce and walked over to his side of the bed, where a nightstand was set nearby and on top of the nightstand was his beloved cell phone.
Harry's side of the bed was still made, duvet folded crisply, as Harry had been shipped off to go on vacation with Taylor Swift mere days ago. The two of them were sent to Utah for a ski trip. Louis wouldn't get to see Harry until the following week when he returned, a few days before Christmas. Louis didn't realize how long a week genuinely was. The fact that he had practically begged Harry not to go most likely didn't help time pass quickly, but then again, Harry didn't have much power over the plans. It wasn't his fault.
All Louis wanted was Harry to arrive home safely and on time for his birthday.
He picked his phone up and scanned over the number multiple times before realizing that it was unrecognizable and he had no idea who was calling him. It appeared to be an American phone number, a eleven digit string of numbers, and it only pushed his curiosity to the next level. He thought for a second, perhaps it was Harry calling off of a pay phone, but then remembered Harry wouldn't dare use a payphone, considering his slight case of self-diagnosed germophobia.
Sighing, he had given in, slid the green arrow across the screen, and put the device to his ear, "Hello?"
Bruce was sat on the bed at that point, panting as he got as close to Louis as he could without losing footing and tumbling down to the floor. He whined as he tried to nose Louis's hand, but Louis kept recoiling every time Bruce's cold nose grazed his skin.
"Hello? Hello? Is there a Mr. Louis Tomlinson there?" A woman's stringent voice came amplifying through the speaker. Louis' head peeked up as she said his name.
